


Mercury Rising

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Category: due South
Genre: Gift Fic, In Which The Author Is Not Remotely Repentant About How Hot They Find Skinny Self Conscious Ray, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Prompt Fill, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: It's hot. It's humid. And it's lonely on this stakeout.So of course Ray calls Fraser.Which does nothing for the heat.





	Mercury Rising

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wagnetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagnetic/gifts).



> For the wonderful Wagnetic, and betaed by the amazing Christyimnotred, both of whom I adore.

It was already one of the hottest summers in twenty years, and it wasn’t even into the height of it yet. Which in itself was only a small part of why Ray was stomping around miserably while gradually stripping out of his clothes to deal with the heavy humidity that left him coated in a sheen of sweat and grabbing his delivered pizza wearing nothing but his underwear and a dirty look. 

He had drawn the short straw and been put in the worst room in the dingy hotel for the surveillance operation. The air conditioning unit in one window rattled and boomed and occasionally belched out a gust of musty air that did nothing to cool him off. There was a couple in the next room who had either just gotten married, or the guy had a lot of money to blow because the woman was shrill and falsely enthusiastic while the bed springs protested the onslaught they were put through. He had gotten into a fight, which he had lost, with the cockroaches who he was sure were planning some sort of coup against humanity. Since then he hadn’t dared to get too close to the cramped kitchenette at the other side of the room. That was their domain now, and he just hoped he was out of here before they decided to lay claim to the bathroom. 

Their target hadn’t made an appearance in the four days the team had been stuck there, so Ray had been watching out of a tobacco stained curtain at an empty street and the occasion garbage truck that rolled by.

Okay, and  _ maybe  _ the worst part was the fact that he didn’t have Fraser there to keep him company. But as everyone had pointed out, having a big guy in a red suit coming and going with a wolf at heel would be the quickest way to draw attention. And after the incident a month earlier with Fraser getting caught by a news crew using a blue pink and purple flag to glide from a department store rooftop onto a pickpocketer in the middle of a parade route, then stumbling through his explanation of what he was doing, all of Chicago would be able to put two and two together to make four if he showed up like a bright red beacon outside of a club with heavy criminal ties. 

It really drove home how much they’d been living in each other’s pockets lately. Since partnering up, the longest they’d gone without seeing the other was the nineteen hours when Ray had been stuck in an elevator in a building during a power outage on a bank holiday. And even then, Fraser had tried to talk to him by tapping on the pipes while Ray hadn’t had the heart to yell to him that he didn’t understand anything other than SOS in Morse code. 

Most partners would be thrilled with the space, but Ray was getting increasingly… bitchy. Or so Welsh had told him the night before during their daily reports. 

So there he was, sitting in a tank top and a pair of plaid boxers only so he didn’t get stuck to the chair again, with his chin on the windowsill, a day old slice of pizza hanging limp in his hand and the room’s heavy phone perched on his knee. His finger had gotten pinched trying to dial, and if it had been any other colour the phone might have been considered vintage. In the mucous yellow shade, it was just tacky and old. Ray had sanitised it twice before picking up the receiver. 

Static, a low droning whine, then a ringtone. Ray took a bite of soggy pizza with green peppers, olives, and pineapple. 

“Canadian consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How can I assist you today?” 

Ray’s mood immediately lifted. He pushed off the sill and leaned back in the creaking chair with a grin. “Hey Fraze,”

“Swallow your food please, Ray. And where are you? You sound like you’re at the end of a tunnel.” 

Gulping and nearly choking on his mouthful, Ray checked the plug on the receiver. He pushed it in more securely and swore when he heard a loud pop. “Better?”

“Yes, well.” On the other end of the line, Fraser cleared his throat as he obviously considered and dismissed several different responses before settling on “That helped.” 

“Sorry, but I think this phone was here before the hotel. It just appeared on an empty lot, and they built the place around it. That or the roaches staged a protest any time someone tried to replace it. I’m pretty sure it’s older than I am.” Ray tossed the rest of his slice into the nearly empty box and swung his legs up to rest his heels on the windowsill. He cradled the receiver between his head and shoulder so he could try to fan himself with both hands. It did nothing but stir the air a bit. 

“Ah, you’re still on your stakeout. How much longer are you expected to be there?” On the other end of the line, Ray could hear a pen scratching on paper. Fraser was probably doing six different things while taking the call. 

“‘Until it’s done’ says Welsh. Easy for him, he’s in the command centre room. He’s got a working A/C, and his bedsheets have been changed in the last decade. Me, I’m pretty sure my sheets aren’t actually floral print. They’re just colourfully stained.” Huffing out a breath, Ray dragged his fingers back through his hair. It was sweat damp and spiked together to stand upright. “And the water in the shower smells and looks like it came straight outta the lake.” 

“It could be worse, Ray. I remember a stakeout during a trip I was sent on to Drumheller, Alberta in late July. Two weeks in a hollowed out hoodoo, watching for students who were suspected of planting fake Edmontosaurus fossils in an attempt to discredit a rival university’s professors. At the hottest point of the day, the temperatures reached an excess of forty-five degrees-”

“Hey, that’s not too bad. Nice sweater weather.”

“Celcius, Ray,” 

A bitten out curse seemed the only reasonable response. 

“Indeed. By the end of the second week, I had begun to hallucinate so severely that I made friends with a coyote with an impressive set of antlers, and was convinced that the fossilised skeletons were in fact getting up and walking about. Which, if I had been in command of my senses at the time, would have been the evidence I needed that it wasn’t the students who were guilty, but a local dinosaur walk leader who had fallen on hard times and was attempting to boost tourism in the area. But, as my old friend Constable Andrew Bartlett from Gros Morne, Newfoundland was so fond of saying whenever it was too warm-” His voice changed to something  _ almost  _ Irish and put Ray in mind of thick sweaters with fraying cuffs, wind chapped cheeks, and an alarming skill with knots. “It was a dry heat, my son. A dry heat.” 

In the background, the pen scratching had stopped but was replaced with a rustling of pages and murmuring voices. Fraser had moved the phone away from his mouth and Ray heard him thank someone kindly before standing and moving. After several seconds of breathing, a door closed and Fraser’s voice was much closer. “I suppose when you live on a rock in the ocean, baking is preferable to steaming.”

“While you prefer to sit and get turned into a snowman in a red coat.” A droplet of sweat had begun to trickle from Ray’s ankle down to the back of his knee and for one terrifying second he thought it was one of the roaches making the first attack. Squawking, he pitched backwards with the leg in the air to swat at his calf. Instead of hitting a bug, his palm splashed into his sweat and slipped across his leg. “Dammit all to hell, Fraser. I’m sweating my ass off over here. Can’t you summon up some sort of canuck powers and send a cold wind my way?” 

“I believe you’re mistaking me for Jack Frost, Ray.” There was warm affection in Fraser’s voice. “And if it’s any consolation, the water intake pipes at the consulate are malfunctioning, and it will be at least a week until we receive the repair parts to replace them. Until then, we need to ration what water we have so we aren’t in much better straits than you are. Inspector Thatcher is taking refuge at a nearby spa, and the last time I saw Turnbull, he was insisting that standing near the vegetable displays at a local grocer when they get misted was close enough to a shower. I’m running the consulate on my own, and I haven’t been able to shave in a few days. I must look like a vagrant to the visitors we’ve had today.” 

“Yeah, sure. How many repeat visitors have you had from thirsty women looking for information on Canada?” It wasn’t often he had seen Fraser looking anything other than spit and polished, but the moment he was off the clock for any length of time, the mountie quickly looked like he belonged on the cover of magazines which catered to very specific tastes and advertised discreet cabin getaways in the back pages. Like he just came down off of a mountain with an axe on his back, fresh picked flowers in one hand, and was fully capable of wrestling a bear to defend Ray’s honour. Instead of being in down town Chicago where the only bears he ever encountered were more keen on finding out where they could get their own Kenora dinner jacket than slapping trout out of a river. 

Fraser  _ had  _ needed to wrestle one for Ray’s honour, though. It had been a misunderstanding, and Fraser was now on his Christmas card list. 

“Only a handful. But I hope that they haven’t been thirsty. I’m not able to offer them a glass of water.” 

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Ray breathed in, counted to five, and silently reminded himself that Fraser didn’t do it on purpose. “Not  _ thirsty  _ thirsty, Fraze. At least not for water. They were horny.” 

“No, none of them had antlers of -” 

Didn’t  _ always  _ do it on purpose. 

“Right, now I know you’re screwing with me.” Ray snapped. Sweat was making his thighs slick, and the seat made an wet squelching sound when he shifted in place. He resigned himself to losing another battle and reached behind his head to grab the back of his tank top and peel it off so he could swab himself dry. He scrubbed at the chair with it then crossed to the bed to grab one of the sheets. It took bouncing on his heels and punching the air a few times to work up the nerve to dash to the fridge to grab one of the cans of off brand cola he’d been saving.

“Perhaps a little, Ray. Oh dear, it’s not just my appearance, I’m behaving like a ne’er-do-well.” 

Shaking out the sheet, Ray rolled his eyes and covered the chair to give himself a barrier between his skin and the cracked leather. “I can hear you trying not to laugh,” he pointed out before dropping back down and propping his feet on the windowsill once more. He twitched the curtains aside to confirm that there still was no one in the street below then slouched down as comfortably as he could manage. The condensation on the can was heavenly when he rolled it back and forth across his forehead and pressed it to his cheeks. 

“My apologies. I suppose I’m feeling punchy from being here alone.” 

“Yeah? Dief’s not talking to you?” 

“Actually, Francesca and I arranged for him to have a date with Ante. They will be at the park, then the groomers before going back to hers for dinner.” 

“I hope you had the Talk with him. We don’t want any surprise puppies.” He closed his eyes and stretched himself out, pointing his toes to press against the glass through the curtain. “What would we even call something like that? A Woofle? Poolf?”

Once again there was a laugh that pulsed the mercury just a little bit higher. 

Ray let out a quiet groan when he moved the can to his chest. Such a quick temperature change left his skin prickling with goosebumps and he felt his nipples tighten and peak. He cracked an eyelid to glance down at himself. “Shit,” 

“I don’t think that would make a good breed name for a dog, Ray.” 

His body didn’t know the difference between reacting to cold aluminum on hot skin, and the memories of an exciting night involving ice cubes, silk ties on his wrists, and drizzles of honey. 

And that rich chuckle coming down the line certainly wasn’t helping matters.

Ray’s cock began to wave for attention under the thin fabric of his boxers. He set the can down so he could try to handle things without risking dropping it on his balls. Catching the edge of the cloth to try to pin it down only encouraged it and gave it a chance to peek out of the front flap to say hello. “Go away,” he told it firmly. It continued to wave, clearly happy to no longer be stuck to his thigh. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you to start wearing shorts with a button fly. They do a better job of keeping your erections from escaping.” 

For one horrifying second Ray was convinced that Fraser was actually there in the room, looming behind him to watch. His shoulders hunch up toward his ears and his hand froze from reaching to try to put everything back where it belonged. “How did you…?” 

“Know that you wear open flies, or that you’re erect now?” 

Ray dropped his hand to his lap in defeat. Since it wasn’t going anywhere on its own, he pressed his thumb against the base of his cock to absently push it up and down. “Both,” he bit out. “Either. Whatever. Yes.” 

“Oh, it’s simple, Ray. After nearly every chase we make, you have to adjust yourself. Clearly you wear shorts that make it easy to slip free from. It can’t be comfortable rubbing on the underside of your zipper. Really, I’m surprised you haven’t given over to wearing briefs” There was a shift and a thud and Ray could picture Fraser mirroring his own position with his freshly polished boots resting on the edge of his desk. Maybe that soft rustle was him running his fingers back through his hair. Mussing it up. Scratching lightly over his scalp with neatly trimmed and filed fingernails. 

Ray was doomed. 

“And the other?” 

“You’ve been making delightful little sounds since I told you I haven’t shaved.” 

But if he was already doomed, he might as well enjoy himself while he was at it. “Delightful, hmm?” he asked with a smirk. Ray slouched deeper into the chair until he was practically laid out. He moved one knee and hooked it over the arm of the chair to spread his legs. His other foot pressed flat to the window for balance. One wrong move and he would crash to the floor, but Ray did so love to live dangerously. 

“Arousing,” Fraser confirmed. His own breath was coming out heavier and Ray wondered just what he was picturing on the other end of the line. 

Should he…?

“I stripped ages ago,” he told him, deciding to take the plunge. “Couldn’t handle the clothes. It was like my jeans were sticking to me.” 

“They do usually cling. Almost as much as your shirts do.” 

Ray heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper and he nearly came right then and there. His hips thrust up against nothing and his cock turned a deeper shade of dark rose. He reached down, fumbling along the floor until he found the still cold can. Swiping his thumb through the condensation, Ray moved it to the head of his cock. The cold wetness was enough of a shock to drag himself back from the edge while also slicking up the tip. A few darting circles with the pad of his thumb and soon enough a bead of precome had formed. He slipped his hand into the opening of his shorts so he could cup his balls and press his fingertips into the spot just behind them. 

“You like that, huh?” He couldn’t have said what was turning him on more: The idea of Fraser there in his office, in uniform, with his breath hot and rough against the phone while he stroked, or the fact that it was Ray which was turning his friend on. That Fraser could look at clothes snug against his skinny frame and store the image in his head for future use. How many times had Fraser let his mind wander to the way his back looked with sweat dampened shirts tracing out each line of muscle and jut of bone? Had he imagined how his hands would look wrapped around a slim biceps, or a slender thigh?

Pinning Ray down by those arms, or pressing open his thighs?

Ray didn’t notice that his eyes were screwed up tight or that he was biting and releasing his lip every other breath. He wasn’t doing more than trailing his fingertips over the underside of his prick with his thumb loosely hooked around and he could already feel that familiar throb deep inside. 

“Of course I do. You are a very-” A pause, a hitched breath, and a deep moan. “-Attractive man. You should realise that.” There was another pause, but this one was obviously so Fraser could gauge Ray’s reaction.

“I am?” His voice was small and just shy of desperate. Ray closed his fist around his erection just to hold on while he listened. 

The wet skin on skin sound was almost as thrilling as the words. “The way your back curves from your hips to your shoulders,” The hoarse tone was coming from between clenched teeth. “My hands could follow that path all night. Up your spine. Over your neck.” He heard a fumbling with buttons.

“Into my hair.” 

“To bring your head back.” 

“To pull it back,” Ray corrected and the window frame crackled as he pushed his foot more firmly against the glass for traction to thrust his hips up into his hand. 

“Your chest against the mattress.” 

“Desk. Your  _ desk _ . You’re standing behind me.” 

“And you’re up on your toes for me. Your legs are stretched taut. Your hips tipped up so I can sink in deeper.” 

He curled his toes into the curtain and two of the rings holding it to the rod popped open. “Too close, Fraser,” Ray warned but couldn’t bring himself to stop moving his fist to try to make it last. He wanted to listen to that voice tormenting him all day but he couldn’t hold on much longer. It was all encouragement and assurance and filth and Ray was getting too damned close.

“Let it happen, Ray.” It was voiced with just the faintest hint of a command. 

And that was too much for him to fight. If Fraser’s voice had been gentler, he might have lasted a few more minutes, but being told what to do…

Ray didn’t even know what he was saying. He knew he was swearing, and telling Fraser what was happening, but the words were lost on him even while Fraser guided him through it. The newlyweds pounded on the wall, yelling for him to shut up. His foot slammed against the glass and his leg tightened on the arm of the chair and he lifted in the air, only his shoulders and head keeping contact with the shaking furniture as hot come struck his chest. His chin. His lips. Ray ran his tongue through the mess, sucking his lip into his mouth before swallowing. 

When he began to come back to himself, he was aware of the change in the pitch of Fraser’s breathing. Heavier, more sated. 

“You did, too?” he asked, squeezing to coax out the last of his come onto his hand which he licked clean. 

“Mm _ nn _ n,” was the only reply for a moment until Fraser obviously sagged back in his own chair. He sounded content and sleepy. “I made rather a large mess.” 

“Think I hit the ceiling,” Ray mumbled and ran his fingers through the slick coating across his chest. He lifted his hand to the sunlight and watched the way it spread between his fingertips as he opened them. “Can’t feel my foot.” Rather than try to explain what that meant, Ray rocked to the side so he could let go with his thigh and calf and drop his feet to the floor. He flexed a few times to get blood moving back into his limbs before straightening. 

He lifted his hand to push his hair back from his brow then rubbed his forearm across his face to wipe up a salty mix of sweat and come. “Oh, fuck,” he swore. 

“Again, already? You have an impressive rebound period.” 

“No!” Ray snapped and lunged to his feet a little too fast. He had to grab the wall for support. “No, the damned suspect. He’s outside! Dammit, how long has he been there?” Pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder he scrambled for the nearest bits of clothes to pull them on. “Bastard must’ve picked this time just to screw with me.” 

“Don’t pinch yourself in your zip,” 

Ray hopped from one foot to the other while he hauled on a pair of jeans he found on the floor. He was still half hard, and the warning was a blessing. He promised his cock he would take care of it properly later if it would only stay in one place and not get caught in the zipper teeth. “Listen, I have to…” Ray grabbed an old graphic tee and pulled it on, juggling the phone from one side to the other. 

“Go,” Fraser finished for him. “After you have him booked, come to the consulate. We’ll celebrate your collar.” 

Despite his urgency, Ray’s brain short circuited momentarily, flashing the image of himself with a strip of dark brown leather around his throat and he thought he might tip over. He blinked rapidly and his mouth worked silently and his blood seemed to stop completely as it wasn’t sure which direction it should be going.

“Ray. Ray? Ray.  _ Ray _ !” 

He snapped back to himself and decided to stick that thought in a part of his brain labelled To Deal With Later along with his newly discovered love of praise and the nagging sense that he really just wanted to be cuddled right now, and gave his head a quick shake. “Right. Yeah. Celebrate.” He struggled with his holster but finally managed to get it on even if his thumb got stuck in the buckle. His socks were nowhere to be found so he crammed his bare feet into his shoes with a cringe. “And… talk?” Oh no, that sounded too needy. Like he wanted to discuss The Future.

“Of course, Ray. Be safe.” 

“Thanks, Fraser.” To hell with too needy.

He dropped the receiver into the cradle and dashed out the door.

His shirt clung to the long ribbons of come on his chest and belly, and his hair was spiked up with it. The weather would be too humid for it to dry. 

  
  


Fraser tossed out his soiled tissues and buttoned his shirt back up. His coat was draped over the back of his chair. 

He was alone in the consulate. That much was true. Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull were on a training retreat. The water was working perfectly fine, and Fraser considered going to have a shower to freshen himself up, but decided it would be more intimate to wait for Ray. 

He was sure his friend would forgive him the small lie. It had worked to get him over his hesitation and set them on a forward path rather than circling around one another constantly.

And five o’clock shadow looked just as rugged, and felt just as good against bare skin as unshaven cheeks, after all. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Both the hallucination in Drumheller, and Newfoundlanders insisting that dry heat is perfectly tolerable are based on actual events.   
> Seriously. Don't go to Drumheller in the summer. You won't so much sweat, as melt. 
> 
> The bear wanting the Kenora Dinner Jacket is inspired by literally every bear I've ever met on the Canadian Shield. A bear wearing one of those to Pride in the June heat of down town Toronto is a force to be reckoned with.


End file.
